Made to Wear & Tear

Please don’t make fun of how I dance
My reign as Groove Tiger is almost done

My body is made to wear clothes and tear poses
A little quirk, a little fear, a flared nose

Swaying to communicate things I don’t mean
A ticket found in my shirt’s front pocket

Unbuttoning a special sound to mark it as a holiday
I was placed in hot water ooch ouching to the next jerky beat

I’m slipping on a puddle of sweat left by
People huddled around hiding from my elbows

Each leg must schloop out of mud for the next big move
And there’s a bunch of bootleg webs to fight my way through

I’m treading water with or without the eggbeater kick
I’m trying to map four distances from front to back

Running an eccentric marathon on tips & toes
A melodic endurance royal, loyal, totally rude

I’m trying to keep my wig still
Despite the jello motions asking for the bald spots

I am Stretch Armstrong’s failed prototype
Dead Gumby, dried silly putty, JNCO jeans dummy


A piece from Sweat. In Sweat, readers are treated to thirty-seven poems, one for every Celsius degree of normal body temperature. It’s a collection centered around the experience of aging, trying to accept the things we can’t control, and the role holding plays in our lives.

Learn more at